Sky Light - Part One of Six: Oscar and His Brother Dunstan See the Sun For the First Time In Their Lives

Once upon a time, there was a village of mice who could talk, think, and feel like human beings do today. They lived in a place where, for reasons unknown to them, the sun only rose once a year. It was on a 'Sun Day' morning that Oscar and Dunstan, two mice, and Rufus, a crow, were playing on the moonlit outskirts of the mouse village. After an hour or so of a tag-like game, they collapsed onto the soft grass in exhaustion.

"Rufus, I wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow. You're not like crows we've heard about in stories," said Oscar.

"No. You're really not," agreed Dunstan.

And he really wasn't. That's true. You see, Oscar and Dunstan had heard stories about crows from their parents. Horrible stories that made crows out to be angry, foolish, and, most of all, dangerous. Every mouse in the village seemed to have a pretty nasty impression of crows, though few of them had ever met one. Rufus had a single, red feather sticking out from the top of his head. This was also different.

"I wish I could stay, too. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun. The next sun rise is just a few moons away, though, and we have a long way to travel," explained Rufus.

"What's it like, Rufus?" asked Oscar.

"What's what like?"

"The Sun!"

"I don't want to disappoint you two, but I don't think it's that impressive. I don't see why your town gets so excited..."

"You're one to talk! You travel across the world to see it come up again and again. There must be something to it if it's worth all that trouble."

"Maybe..."

A booming voice in the distance cut Rufus short. "RHO, OMICRON, MU, EPSILON!" it shouted. Rufus closed his eyes and began muttering to himself, clearly trying to remember something. He quickly opened his eyes and began flapping frantically.

"Oh no! That's the assembly order. I'm late!" he exclaimed as he started to fly away.

"Goodbye! See you next year!" shouted Oscar.

"We should probably make our way home, too," suggested Dunstan. "I wouldn't miss my first sunrise for the world."

His brother nodded, and the two quickly made their way towards the village. Sure enough, the townsfolk had gathered and were calling family names and rank. The brothers found their family, who happened to be part of rank 'A' (the best rank), and shuffled into order. You see, the mouse tradition was to climb to the top of a nearby hill and watch the yearly sun rise. The best spots, of course, were reserved for the highest ranking mice. Determining rank was a long, boring process that had mostly to do with how much a family contributed to the Sun Day festivities.

Anyway, the mice began their trek up the hill. To reach the grassy vantage point on top, they had to maneuver through a deep, narrow cave. Though mice are blessed with very powerful night vision, moving though a dark cave with a large, excited crowd is no easy task. The mice were about three quarters of the way through when, suddenly, a faint glimmer of sunlight pierced the darkness of the corridor. It came as such a surprise to Dunstan that he stumbled, and fell into a dark puddle.

Oscar stopped and reached out to help his brother. Dunstan's paws were slippery with some thick, black muck, so helping him up was proving difficult for Oscar. Almost instantly, the crowd of mice behind them erupted in excitement. Sight of the sun had obviously reached them, and they began scrambling towards the end of the cave. Dunstan was still unable to stand, and could only stare in fear at the mob rushing towards him and his brother. The stampede quickly separated them, and Oscar could only watch as it mercilessly trampled his brother.

He was rudely muscled to the cave's exit. There, in just a few, short seconds, Oscar saw his first sunrise. It poured over the hills in the distance and over his body. It was warm one moment, and hot the next. Orange for an instant, and white in a flash. Soon, Oscar could only hear the loud, cheering crowd around him. He was blind.

the perks of being a wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky

Just finished it this afternoon. It was recommended to me by the girlfriend. She said it was really disappointing, but that it was probably right up my ally. The fact that the novel was published by MTV Books made me a little skeptical too.

All in all, I found it very entertaining. I finished it in about two sittings. The story follows an introspective young man's freshman year in high school. Because of my pretty sheltered upbringing, and lack of exposure to sex, alcohol, drugs, and literature at that age, this book would have meant very little to me during my high school years. I could maybe liken the protagonist's first year in high school to my first year in college. The young narrator's nonspecific angst, however, is very familiar. That brought my right back to high school.

If you've read Catcher in the Rye, you'll notice a lot of parallels in perks. The author cites it as a major inspiration on the back cover. The protagonists have a similar way of telling their stories, and are both intimidated and confused by events in their late adolescent years. The books end in about the same way too, with no real resolution, and a bittersweet sense that everything will sort of work itself out in the end. I guess that's how my teenage years felt.

Timequake, by Kurt Vonnegut

Just finished reading my fourth Vonnegut book. I'm hooked.

Timequake was different from the other books of his I've read. Good different. It feels like you're having a conversation with the man.

A quote I liked: "Yes, and the word Socialist was the second S in USSR, so good-bye, Socialism along with Communism, good-bye to the soul of Eugene Debs of Terre Haute, Indiana, where the moonlight's shining bright along the Wabash. From the fields there comes the breath of new-mown hay. 'While there is a soul in prison, I am not free.'"

It loses some power without context, so read the book!

Alaskan Hobbits

So the girlfriend and I took a trip to that flea mall I mentioned a few posts down. It's impressive. The place is packed with antiques, furniture, books, movies, and tons of other useless bric a brac. We wandered its claustrophobic hallways for almost an hour, and probably only saw about a fourth of the store. We'll definitely be going back.

At a book/record/porcelain cat booth, I picked up this:

It's a 1982 print of "The Hobbit" that appears to be in great condition. What's really interesting, though, is its origin. Stamped across the first page is the street address of one of its previous owners. 2666 Silver Street. North Pole, Alaska 99705. I actually looked up the address on google maps (not creepy), and discovered that there's still a little house there.

It's funny what kind of interesting stuff you can get with fifty cents.

The Return of Nielsen / Concert Ticket!

A few months ago, I was contacted by Nielsen, a television ratings company. They sent my two dollars in cash for completing a quick phone survey. Today, I opened my mailbox to find yet another large, cardboard envelope from Nielsen; they sent me thirty dollars this time around. The money is to thank me in advance for completing the enclosed 'ratings journal.' It's a little book that gives me space to write the name of the TV show I'm watching at a particular hour of the day. It's pretty simple. And half of it is written in Spanish. I'll probably fill it out. Who knows what they'll send me next time?

Also, I got my ticket for the Decemberists concert.



It's in Atlanta on June third. I'm pretty excited. From what I've heard, the band will play the entire Hazards of Love album, along with a set of their old songs. Blind Pilot is their opening act. Heard good things about them too. I'll be sure to write about it.

The Most Uncomfortable Meal of My Life

Allow me to preface this story with a little background information. A few miles up the interstate, there is a small, little known shopping center that my girlfriend and I often visit. It contains two thrift stores, an antique mall, an asian super market, and a Korean restaurant. On our Saturday morning trips to this out-of-the-way place, we have often passed the restaurant with great interest. Identified only by a large, unlit sign that reads "Korean Restaurant," it's a hole-in-the-wall eatery that seems to cater almost exclusively to a Korean-American clientele. We're foodies to some degree, so we resolved to check it out.

Last Saturday, we drove eleven miles up I-85 to eat there for dinner. Aside from a small Korean family, the dining room was empty. The restaurant's only waitress motioned for us to sit. I say motioned because she did not speak English. At all. Expecting the frantic, broken English we are used to hearing in Chinese takeout restaurants, this came as a shock to us. We ordered our meal by pointing to items on the Korean/Engrish menu and smiling nervously. We did a lot of smiling. While waiting for our food, we discussed our surroundings very quietly, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other people in the room.

Before bringing the entrées we ordered, the waitress placed a beautiful array of small dishes in front of us. Whether they were side dishes, appetizers, or condiments, I cannot say. The bowl closest to me was full of pickled peppers and whole anchovies. It became very clear to us that the Korean palate is very different from our own. That's not to say we're averse to foreign foods. Over the last few months, we've visited several 'dives' that serve genuine regional fare. The run-down, probably illegal kitchen in the back of the Mexican tienda by the liquor store is a prime example. The taste of "Korean Restaurant" was a little much, though.

Our main dishes, in short, were bland and unsatisfying. Expensive too. We hardly noticed this during the meal, though; we were terrified of stumbling upon some strange, Korean dining faux pas. Needless to say, we were anxious to leave very early in the evening.

We picked up some ice cream later that night to clear our palates. Over our sugary treats, we discussed the experience. It's entirely possible, we concluded, that "Korean Restaurant" just makes terrible food, by anyone's standards. Or it could be that our humdrum, American taste buds will never be able to appreciate the flavors of the far east. Either way, we won't be going back.

Question: Why Does My Kid Eat Play Doh?

Answer: It looks like tasty ice cream.

Piracy

So I'm heading home for the Easter holiday this weekend. To make the drive bearable, I'm downloading a bunch of music that I haven't really explored. Here's my playlist for this Friday's drive:

Animal Collective- Feels
DeVotchKa- Una Volta
Metric- Live it Out
Explosions in the Sky- The Rescue
Devendra Banhart- Rejoicing in the Hands

I've been trying to think of a new way to describe my taste in music. Up until now, I've said my taste is 'eclectic,' but I'm starting to notice common themes is most of the music I listen to.

More on that later.

Daytime Television

Between commercials for denture adhesive and adult diapers, I realized that I was not part of the Golden Girls demographic.

Tom and Jerry

Sorry Jerry. This is wrong. Sometimes you're right, but this time you're wrong.

If you make your little mouse-home under the stage of an opera house, you have to expect some loud music a few nights of the week. You're a squatter, and you have no right to sabotage Tom's performance just because it's keeping you awake.

I never thought I would have to say this, but cut it out. You're being a dick.